Once
by snuggalong
Summary: "Oh, fratello," Feliciano murmured quietly. "You lost me long before I ever truly left." [past itacest, current spamano and gerita, angst]


"This isn't what I need—or want."

_Wasn't it?_

"I can find happiness on my own."

_Can you?_

"So I guess...this is good-bye."

._..is it?_

"_Good-bye."_

_Please don't go._

* * *

><p><em><strong>once<strong> (you were everything i needed)_

* * *

><p>3 years, 8 months, 13 days, 7 hours, 4 minutes, and 1 second, and he was still spending every moment trying to convince himself that he was happy—that things were better this way, that this was the way it had to be.<p>

And he still woke every morning to the same thought, written in every tiny aspect of the life he had attempted to build for himself; hands clasped by the water, laughter over the simple things, the smile fixed to his face that never, _ever_ faltered.

_Who are you trying to fool?_

"Feliciano?"

He turned like a man caught out of a dream, eyes so far away it was obvious to see that wherever he was—it wasn't here. Brown eyes blinked once, slowly, before realization dawned and he smiled brightly—

—but somehow, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ve, Lud? What is it?"

"Are you alright?" Ludwig stepped forward to rest a hand gently on his shoulder, a concerned frown etched across his face.

Feliciano tilted his head, confusion clouding his eyes. "Ve? Why wouldn't I be alright?"

"You looked...sad," Ludwig replied, struggling to put what he had seen into words.

His husband's laughter echoed like sunlight as he bounded upwards to peck him lightly on the lips, pulling back to rest their foreheads together.

"Now why would I be sad?" he asked, teasingly. "I've got you, don't I?"

"Yes," he murmured, almost to himself. "You do." And he leaned in to kiss him as well.

_But do I have you? Did I ever have you?_

_Or were you always his?_

* * *

><p>"<em>I do."<em>

"You may kiss the...bride."

"I love you, Feli..."

"I love you too, fratello..."

That is the day he cries—but for happiness, and smiles through the tears.

* * *

><p>"Fe...Feli...Feliciano?"<p>

He was in the marketplace, buying flowers, names and meanings flitting without staying through his mind.

_Rosemary—for remembrance. _

That voice, stuttering his name, so full of disbelief, stopped him dead in his tracks, a spray of peonies held delicately in one hand.

_Peonies—for shame._

"Feliciano?"

The voice was softer now, gentler, but still he began to shake, unwilling to turn around, unwilling to face the person he knew—beyond all doubt—was standing right behind him, hand reaching for his shoulder.

"Don't."

He closed his eyes as he heard the stillness behind him.

_Rue—for regret._

And then he was flinching, because there was a hand on his shoulder and he was being turned around whether he liked it or not, forced to look into sad, pained, and _angry_ brown eyes.

"The _hell_ I won't, Feliciano! It's been three years—"

—_and 8 months, 13 days, 11 hours, 17 minutes, 3 seconds—_

"—and here I find you standing in the damned marketplace, buying _flowers_, like you didn't just leave without a word or a thought!"

He flinched again, harder, and looked down—and thus didn't see those brown eyes soften just slightly.

_Bellflowers—for "thinking of you."_

"C'mon, Feli."

The sound of that name—a nickname he hadn't been called in years now—made him look up.

"Ve?"

"There's a café—just the next street over, not far at all. I...would you..."

It was the hesitancy in his voice—his fratello's voice, his fratello who was never, _ever_ afraid to tell you just what he was thinking—that broke what little resolve he had managed to build. He closed his eyes, just once, briefly, forcing down all the pain and the hurt and the memories, and when he opened them again, he smiled.

"Of course. Lead the way? But...ve...do they have pasta?"

The smile he got back could only be described as relieved. "Of course they do, you fool, it's Italy...now c'mon..."

They walked, and for a moment he felt that maybe, just maybe, for one hour—he could forget.

As they left, he caught the scent of morning glories on the wind.

* * *

><p>The hostess looked up as the bell rang, a bright, welcoming smile leaping almost naturally to her lips.<p>

To her delight, it was a familiar figure that came through the door, one for whom not a single bit of her smile was fake. She was about to call out a greeting when a second figure appeared, almost timidly, behind the first, and she faltered.

Mr. Vargas wasn't alone. This wasn't too unusual—on a handful of occasions, she had been on shift when his husband, a handsome, cheerful, if slightly spacey Spaniard had tagged along.

—he had this way of looking at Mr. Vargas that made her heart clench, that gaze where you know whatever (or whomever) they're looking at is the center of their world, that makes you wish for once someone would look at you that way—

What was strange was that the man with him was not Mr. Carriedo, but another, who by the looks of him—even with the lighter hair, the honeyed eyes, the timidity to his step—was his twin brother.

_Strange_, she thought as she greeted the two with a smile and acquiesced to Mr. Vargas's request of a slightly more secluded table for two by leading them towards one of the quieter corners. _Mr. Vargas_ _looks at this man...the same way Mr. Carriedo looks at _him_...like he's everything._

Used to noticing things, she was also not blind to the sidelong glances, accidental, brushing touches, nor the softness of Mr. Vargas's smile, an edge gone from it she had never known existed before.

_You'd think they were lovers_, she thought as she walked away, sparing one last glance over her shoulder at them as she did. _Not brothers._

Of course, she couldn't have known, that once upon a time—

—she would have been right.

* * *

><p>Feliciano was smiling. A bright, cheerful smile was plastered to his face as he rambled, fingers jabbing excitedly at the menu every now and then as if to emphasize his point.<p>

Feliciano was smiling, and it broke Lovino's heart to see because even after all this time—his brother still hadn't learned to hide what he was really feeling. His eyes belied the truth of his heart that his smile never told—

—the pain, the anxiety, and above all, the fear.

His brother was afraid of him—whether of him himself or what memories he might serve to dredge up, he didn't know.

But his brother was afraid of him, and though it broke his heart—

—he needed answers.

"Ve, fratello, everything looks so good! They have linguini—but oh, there's marinara—and pesto, oh, will you be getting that, fratello? I remember you love the pesto—here, let me call the server over so I can see what they recommend—"

Lovino moved. And suddenly his brother, who had been in the middle of flinging up an arm to flag down the nearest waitress, found his hand pinned to the table, Lovino starting at him with a fierce, determined gaze he couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I don't care," Lovino stated, voice low and just slightly angry. "About the pesto. I don't care about the server. The only thing I care about right now—"

—his grip tightened—

"—is answers."

Only now could Feliciano see the hint of desperation in his brother's eyes as they stared at him, seeking the truth.

"Why did you leave, Feliciano? _Why did you leave?_"

The silence stretched on. And on. And on.

—and then Feliciano smiled, only this time it was a beautiful, broken thing, full of a sadness that Lovino couldn't even begin to understand.

"Oh, fratello," Feliciano murmured quietly. "You lost me long before I ever truly left."

* * *

><p>Another hour gone. It's somewhere near two a.m. and he's tired, so tired, but sleep won't come. He won't let it come.<p>

It's somewhere near two a.m. and seven hours ago Lovino had left, told Feliciano not to bother with dinner for two, and claimed he'd be back in an hour or two, three at the most.

It wasn't until midnight rolled around, five hours later, that Feliciano finally allowed his slowly growing fear to take over and stationed himself at the window, starting a vigil that now, two hours later, still hasn't ended.

It's dark, it's quiet, and he's tired, so very tired...

He wakes in an instant when headlights flash across his face, the mixture of light and dark disorienting him for a moment before he remembers where he is.

A door slams outside and a sigh of relief escaped him as he instantly recognizes the shadowy form of his fratello through the window. He's alright, _everything_ will be alright, now.

And then another door slams and he tenses, because even in darkness that form is instantly recognizable to him as well—

—Antonio.

Laughter echoes through the glass, achingly familiar laughter, and he feels his heart clench because when was the last time _he_ made his fratello laugh like that?

He is so very, very tired. He just wants to sleep.

Lovino comes to bed near 3 a.m. He finds Feliciano already there, curled beneath the duvet, already long asleep—or so he thinks.

In the dark, he does not see the tear tracks on his fratello's cheeks, nor the way his eyes stare unseeingly into the night as he climbs into bed beside him and swiftly falls asleep.

He does not feel the gentle touch of trembling fingers to his cheek...nor hear the whispered, "...I'm losing you, aren't I?"

And only Feliciano hears in the silence the heaviness of something falling, something broken, something already gone or perhaps—

—never there.

* * *

><p>Feliciano noticed his ring. And now matter how he tried, he could not keep his gaze from flitting back to it as they talked, lingering longer and longer each time until Lovino could no longer pretend to be ignorant, pressed his hand flat in the middle of the table, and tried to remain still and calm as Feliciano cautiously picked his hand up to peer at it.<p>

"...when did he ask you?" he finally asked after a long pause, voice soft, a sadness in it neither of them wanted to acknowledge as they both stared at the beautiful golden band.

"...about a year and a half after you left," he admitted, just as softly.

Feliciano smiled, something wistful and bitter in it. "How sweet of him," he murmured almost absently, turning Lovino's hand over again to examine the other side. "To wait. He should have asked you the moment I left, though."

"And why is that?" Lovino asked, just slightly irritated at Feliciano's almost airy dismissal of just what he'd left behind.

Feliciano looked up at him, the bemusement in his eyes a sharp contradiction to the sadness in his voice when he spoke.

"So you wouldn't have to spend a single moment lonely," he said quietly. "Like me. You deserve to be happy, fratello."

"And you don't?" The irritation was plain as day, now, but made no difference as Lovino knew the answer to his question the moment it left his lips.

Even if he didn't, the silence as Feliciano reluctantly let his hand go was answer enough.

* * *

><p>"<em>I do<em>."

"You may kiss."

"Te amo, Lovino."

"...ti amo, Antonio."

That is the day he cries—but for loneliness, for loss, for heartache, and smiles brokenly through the tears.

* * *

><p>"I wish you had been there," Lovino told him softly after several minutes of silence.<p>

_I was_, Feliciano didn't say. "I wish I had, too," he said, but didn't say where exactly he wished he'd been.

_There to hold you. There to kiss you. There to tell you 'I do' and 'I love you.'_

But instead he was forced to stand and watch as Lovino smiled and told _him_ he loved him, trying not to remember the days when, once upon a time—

—that had been him.

But he knows all too well his chance at a happy ending was gone the moment he said good-bye.

* * *

><p>Antonio is in the gardens when Feliciano finds him that night, sitting on a bench next to a small reflective pool, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn't look up when he feels a warm weight settle next to him on the bench—<p>

—and so doesn't realize just who is sitting next to him.

"I told Francis not to tell you I was out here, querido," he says softly.

Silence reigns for a long moment, before a quiet, familiar, but most definitely _not_ Lovino voice says,

"He didn't."

Antonio's head snaps up so quickly it's surprising he doesn't get whiplash, staring in disbelief at the person sitting next to him.

"_Feliciano?"_ he whispers, and watches the boy smile sheepishly at him. "I—what—_how_—what are you _doing_ here? We've been looking—Lovi's been looking—a year and a _half_—_where have you been? Why did you leave?"_

Feliciano shrugs. "Around," he says, looking down at the ground, not even acknowledging the second question. "Congratulations, ve, the wedding was very beautiful."

Antonio shakes his head in exasperation. "Thank you," he says, then pauses. "Wait, you were there? Never mind, that's not important at the moment! I'll go find Lovino, he—"

"_No!"_

Antonio stops, stunned at the force behind Feliciano's denial. "But, Feli—" he says, quieter.

"You _can't _tell him I'm here. You _can't,_ ve. I came to see you tonight, Toni, and then I'm going to leave and he _won't know I was here. _He _can't."_

"But..." he starts, then trails off, sighing. "...to see me?" he asks softly, deciding to let it lie for the moment. "Why? Why me, of all people, after all this time?"

Feliciano doesn't answer for a long moment, staring at the sky, and when he does it's so soft Antonio it hardly sure he's heard it.

"...to say thank you."

"...for what?" Antonio replies, confused.

Feliciano finally looks at him, and he's taken aback by the _sadness_ in his eyes.

"For making him happy," Feliciano whispers. "Since I can't, anymore. Thank you, Toni. Good-bye...I wish you happiness."

Antonio blinks. "Feliciano, wait—" he tries to say, but it's too late. He's already gone, vanished into the darkness of the gardens.

Antonio is the only one who knows Feliciano was there, that night. And he will never tell, because he knows just why he left; he stole the only the thing that ever made him happy.

* * *

><p>Six months after Feliciano leaves, he shows up on Ludwig's doorstep.<p>

His first instinct is to yell. To grab him by the shoulders and ask him where the hell he's been for the past half a year as the rest of the nations—himself included, Lovino most desperately—searched for him.

Something in the Italian's eyes, though, as he stands there and timidly asks if perhaps, he can stay with him for a bit, stops him.

Something that tells him he might not like the answers he will get.

What choice does he have but to say yes?

...but the silence, _the silence_, is unnerving. Feliciano has stayed a week, and hardly appears, says little, and is in essence, a ghost is his house.

It even unnerves Gilbert, whose unfailing efforts throughout the week, Ludwig realizes, are probably the reason Feliciano appeared or spoke at all.

A week and a half after Feliciano comes to stay with them, he arrives home to the smell of pasta and the sound of laughter and vibrant chatter, and breathes a sigh of relief. He's normal again—

—of course, he doesn't know that Feliciano was standing outside his study door last night, frozen in the silent hallway, listening to him admit aloud to no one that he was scared.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to kill that potato bastard," Lovino hissed through his teeth. "He told us he didn't know where you were!"<p>

Feliciano freaked out in true Feliciano fashion, arms flailing frantically. "Ve, fratello, no, don't hurt Ludwig! It wasn't his fault, I begged him and Gilbert not to tell you I was with them, and I didn't even go to stay with them until six months after I left and—"

But Lovino wasn't listening to him anymore. He was, instead, focused on the flash of light he had noticed on Feliciano's hand as he flailed.

Specifically, his left hand.

_Specifically,_ if his vision wasn't failing him, the _ring finger of his left hand._

"Feliciano," he snapped, cutting sharply into his brother's increasingly frantic rambling. "What's that on your hand?"

Feliciano paused, and it was only because he was watching him so closely that he noticed the flash of apprehension before it was covered by—_fake—_confusion.

"Ve, fratello? What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head.

Lovino glared at him. "Don't play stupid with me, Feliciano; let me see your hand."

He only glared harder when a reluctant hand was put forth—Feliciano's _right_ hand.

"Your _other_ hand," he hissed in agitation, and watched apprehension turn to blatant _fear_ as Feliciano slowly, ever so slowly, placed his left hand on the table instead.

Lovino could only stare. Because there, on the third finger of his fratello's left hand, was a wedding ring.

A wedding ring that _wasn't his_.

Disbelieving fingers reached out to brush against it. "Wh..._when?" _he asked, lifting his head to stare at Feliciano, who was staring steadfastly at the tabletop. "_Who?"_ was his second question, although somewhere, he already knew the answer to it.

"...six months ago," Feliciano finally answered, still not looking at him. "To...to Ludwig."

"_Why_?" he asked, trying to keep the unexplainable hurt out of his voice. Because he had no right to be this hurt that Feliciano had moved on, when he'd done the same thing, but dear _god_ it hurt.

"...you wouldn't understand, fratello," Feliciano murmured, and gently pulled his hand back and out of sight. "It doesn't matter, anyway."

"It matters," Lovino snapped back. "Don't you _dare_ say it doesn't matter."

"But it doesn't. You're not mine anymore and...and I'm not yours."

"Not by _choice_."

"Ve...then why did you move on?"

He went silent. He didn't have an answer.

Not one that would matter, anyway.

* * *

><p>Feliciano knows—or at least suspects—that Ludwig feels something more for him than friendship, even if he himself hasn't realized it yet.<p>

It pains him, because he _knows _he can't give the man the love he wants, no matter how he wishes he could.

More than once he contemplates leaving, if only to spare them both the pain that's sure to come. But every time he makes the decision—

—something holds him back. He doesn't know what. But he can never, ever bring himself to leave.

Four months after he comes to stay with them, Gilbert convinces the both of them to come drinking with him, citing that Ludwig is a stuffy old coot who needs to get out once in a while and that Feliciano has clearly been corrupted by him.

They drink. They laugh. They joke. And when Ludwig, absolutely stone drunk, kisses him in the middle of a sentence, for some reason, he can't bring himself to pull away. He blames the alcohol.

In the morning, Ludwig doesn't remember. But he does—most clearly how when Ludwig kissed him, all the voices screaming inside of him went silent.

* * *

><p>"<em>I do<em>."

"You may kiss the...bride."

"Ich liebe dich, Feliciano."

"...ti amo, Ludwig."

That is the day he cries—but for happiness, for heartache, and smiles through the tears even though inside, he's breaking again.

* * *

><p>"I can say anything without being the worst kind of hypocrite, can I?" Lovino asked, sighing heavily as Feliciano reluctantly nodded. "I...damnit, Feliciano, just answer me one question, <em>please?<em>"

Feliciano's eyes softened. "You know you can ask me anything, fratello."

_You know I could never deny you anything, after all._

"I...are you happy?"

Feliciano went absolutely still at the last question he ever expected from his brother. Then again...it should have been the only thing he expected from him. "I..."

He trailed off, gaze shifting to the table as he fiddled nervously with his ring.

"_No_, Feliciano. Don't look to him. Don't even _think_ of him. Just...just look me in the eyes. And tell me...are you happy?"

It seemed like forever before Feliciano finally looked up at him and impossibly quiet, whispered, "...sometimes you have to be unhappy to be happy, fratello."

He was right. Lovino didn't understand. But he wanted to, and the depth of that want scared him. He stared at him for a few moments, trying to find the words.

"I heard you, that night," Lovino said softly, surprising even himself. This was never something he intended to say.

Never something he expected to have a chance to say.

"...what night?" Feliciano asked, hesitantly, not understanding where Lovino was going.

"The night you left," Lovino answered simply, and watched him suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening.

"Y-you heard...a-all of that?" Feliciano whispered, stuttering.

"Every word. Every single word you never expected me to hear," he said, voice just a bit sharper, a tad bitter. "But I did. And here's my question for you, Feliciano. You said you could find happiness on your own. Did you really find it? Or are you just lying to yourself? _Where's your happiness, Feliciano?"_

Feliciano held his gaze for a long moment before he looked away, eyes closing.

They both knew the answer.

_I left my happiness with you._

* * *

><p>It's time to say good-bye. They've overstayed their time together. Ludwig calls, gruffness overlaid by just the barest trace of deep worry, and Feliciano placates him quietly, telling him he just got caught up talking to someone he met in the marketplace and he'll be home soon, he promises. Ti amo, tesoro.<p>

Antonio texts him, asking if he's alright and when he'll be home and does he need help with the shopping, he can be there soon?

Lovino texts back with a message full of insults at the mere thought that he's incapable of doing the shopping on his own; I'll be home soon. Ti amo, tomato bastard.

They both look up at each other as they finish, and something unspoken hangs in the air.

Gently, Lovino reaches over to ruffle his brother's hair, not caring how out of character it is for him. It's worth it to see Feliciano smile—a true smile—for the first time he's seen in forever.

"Don't you dare leave it so long again, Feli," he says.

"...I won't, fratello, I promise," Feliciano replies, smiling. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, you fool," he says with no bite to the insult, pulling his hand back and moving to stand. "So I guess this is good-bye, for now?"

"For now," Feliciano confirms, standing as well, and surprises him by darting over to hug him quickly. "Ti amo, fratello," he murmurs, and then he's gone, leaving Lovino to stand there and blink at the space where he was only a moment before. He sighs.

He knows it will be a long time before he sees Feliciano again. Before either of them are ready to move past this.

As he leaves, though, he lifts a hand to press against his chest, the place where, as Feliciano hugged him, he felt something small and round pressed between them, cold even through the fabric of their shirts but somehow warm as well—

—something like a ring.

* * *

><p>"I loved you, you know."<p>

"_Loved."_ _No, you didn't._

"I _love_ you."

"...no, you don't."

* * *

><p><em>-fin-<em>

* * *

><p>...hello there. Why yes, this <em>is <em>Erin, back from the dead after being a figurative - and maybe almost literal - ghost on FF since the end of May. I return to you now, in August, two weeks before the start of school, with this! Angsty sort-of Itacest, started at 2 am a week or two ago and finished in one final push as I promised it as a gift to my friend Lovi for her birthday, which was today.

Happy Birthday, Lovi!

I'd try to explain this but in all honesty I don't have the energy, and my friend says it makes sense so...take it as you will. ;D Hope to update everything else soon, but I've got summer work so.../shrug

Love you all~!

-Erin

DISCLAIMER: I hold no claim to _Hetalia: Axis Powers _or any related franchises.


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